Leave You Behind
by daemoniiic
Summary: In an impulsive, not to mention incredibly stupid, decision, Jake Peralta leaves the Nine-Nine and New York City for good. However, when an accident brings him back to the city, he is forced to face the consequences of his mistake after three years, and decide whether or not he should stay to fix them or leave it in the past.
1. If I Go, I'm Goin

_And I will go  
_ If you ask me to,  
And I will stay  
If you dare.

I hated the taste of cigarettes.

It didn't stop me from smoking about two packs in the last twenty-four hours. Smoking had never been my thing; I had avoided it during the rebellious adolescent years, the broke-and-living-in-New-York twenties, and when I made it all the way into my early-thirties without even the curiosity to smoke, I figured It would be a craving I'd never have.

I guess it only took one day to change over thirty years of abstinence.

I flicked ash into the street, eyeing the general hospital in front of me, the stature of the building looming over me like the rest of New York City. I think that's why I left-tall buildings and the constant smell of piss and not at all the emotional and romantic trauma that tainted the view of Brooklyn forever. I pulled the cigarette from my mouth, feeling the smoke fill in my throat, nicotine finally causing my head to become lighter. I look down at the thin, nearly dead, cigarette as I exhaled a thick plum of white smoke from the side of my mouth, a thought echoing in the depth of my mind: I wasn't the one to smoke cigarettes.

 _I_ wasn't the one to smoke cigarettes.

I flicked what was left of it into the road and beneath the tire of a taxi before moving into the hospital, shaking the lapel of my leather jacket to dilute the smell of smoke that clung to my entire body. Three years ago, I had effectively said _deuces_ to the city of New York and transferred to a precinct in New Jersey. As much as I had begun to dislike the sight of New York, I don't think I could have moved much farther away from my mom.

And even though it was New Jersey, objectively the second worst location on Earth, first being France, it was the lesser of two evils because living in New York made every day feel like my heart was being stabbed over and over, except I couldn't just die. I would walk around, every day, bleeding out while everyone just ignored it or watched.

But despite everything, I don't think a single thing, or one, could have kept me from coming back. See, Holt was on a case where he chased a man up to a roof of a deli and during a scuffle, was pushed from the top. Fortunately, it was only a one story building (rare for New York) and an awning helped break his fall partially. However, he still severely injured his back, and doctors are afraid he might be paralyzed.

The idea of Captain Raymond Holt, the greatest detective any precinct had ever seen, paralyzed and unable to continue being a detective stole the air from my lungs. Holt being confined to a chair and having to be a desk-detective like Hitchcock and Scully was equally as horrifying. I pressed the adhesive guest tag the hospital security made for me, running my finger across the printed name: **JAKE PERALTA**.

I used to love seeing my name; I even saved a newspaper clipping of an article detailing my arrest at a Taylor Swift concert. I loved seeing it on my uniform; growing up with a pilot as a dad sucked, but he always taught me to be proud of that gold plated _Peralta_ on the badge. His name meant something, and so did mine. But now? I felt so empty, like I should just change my name to something lame-like Smith or Brown.

I scratched idly at my beard as I stepped off the elevator onto the fifth floor, stopping at the Nurse's station to ask where Holt's room was. I moved to room 513, hesitantly moving across the cracked linoleum floors. For the most part, I stared at my shoes, trying to psych myself into seeing a man I had hardly communicated with in three years. This was _until_ a force slammed into me, hard platform crushing the toes from inside my sneakers. Gasping in pain, I stumbled back, and snapping my eyes up to see a familiar face.

Not just familiar. Familiar was an insult to how well I knew the face staring back at me; I had spent countless mornings, day, and nights memorizing every detail she had: her dark, doe eyes, her olive skin, her perfectly aligned, brushed, and flossed white teeth. _Amy_.

"Am-"

"Don't," she choked out, her face morphing from shock to hurt in an instant. It made my gut twist into knots. "Just... just don't." She turned, marching down the hall towards an exit. I moved forward, looking at her figure move further and further away. I turned, seeing Holt craning his neck to see through the doorway.

"Jacob?" he called, his usual impassive tone soft with interest.

I looked between my mentor and the receding woman, caught between the two things I wanted to do: see Amy and see Holt. "I'm sorry, Holt," I said quickly, poking my head through the door. "I'll be back, but you technically can't move so you're not going anywhere. See you soon, love you, bye," I sputtered before bolting down the hall, moving through the exit to reveal a staircase. Looking down the rails, I noticed Amy's dark hair as she hurried.

"Amy- Amy, wait!" I shouted as I moved so fast down flight after flight, I was afraid I'd slip and crack the back of my head open on the concrete steps. "Come on, Amy, it's been three years," I begged, and it must have worked, because she stopped, gripping the rail so hard her knuckles visibly became white before she spun around to look at me, a deep fire in her doe eyes.

"Exactly J-" she stopped, clenching her fists together as she closed her eyes tight. She took a steady breath and began again. "Exactly, Peralta."

 _Ouch_.

"It's been three _fucking_ years and I haven't heard from you. But more than that, nobody has heard from you: not Terry, not Rosa, not Holt, not even _Charles_. You cut everyone out of your life, you ran away, and you come here and have the audacity to be angry at me for not being able to be within a mile radius of you?" her words stung as they flew at me like bullets, except I think this hurt worse than a spray of bullets. The thing was... she wasn't wrong. _I_ was the one who chose to leave, _I_ was the one who cut everyone off. Amy, even with her insecurities, had never abandon her dignity; she remained in the Nine-Nine, continued doing her job, and despite how much I knew it hurt her, I knew she hadn't lost who she was.

I could see a binder in her messenger bag.

"Fine. You have every reason, every _right_ , to be mad at me, but I'm not here to make everything complicated. I just want to make sure Captain is okay; I'll be back to Newark tomorrow and you don't have to ever think of me ever again," I mumbled, holding my hands up in defense.

She was quiet, looking at me with an exhausted expression. She closed her eyes and hung her head, hand moving up to rub her eye as her body surrendered to the frustration. "Fine, Jacob. Do what you want. Goodbye," she whispered before hurrying back down the stairs at a speed that should be worth of an Olympic medal. I was nearly busting my ass in my sneakers, and she's doubling my speed in heels. Was it strange I had forgotten how amazed by Amy Santiago I am?

I guess I had forgotten a lot of things.

* * *

 **an /** hey so this story is actually posted on ao3 as well, but since i first got into fics on fanfiction, i thought it would be cool to also post it here. just know i'm also posting it on ao3 (AKA THIS IS NOT PLAGIARIZED IT IS THE SAME PERSON). i'm seeing if y'all like it, and if you do, i will post the next three chapters on here. and don't worry, they're longer than this chapter lmfao - d.


	2. Boomerang

_Four Years Ago_

"Jake." Her voice was soft, a quiet breath as they stood in the doorway, gazing into a new and unfamiliar room. "Can you beli-" her voice died out as I gripped her arm, keeping her from moving any further past the threshold. She turned, beautiful, _perfect_ brown eyes furrowed curiously.

"I gotta carry you through," I insisted, flashing a toothy grin as she laughed, arching a manicured brow at me pointedly.

"We're not married..."

" _Yet._ " We both chimed in unison. I only shrugged my shoulder, taking her other arm and pulling her towards me, resting my forehead against hers. "You're the most organized person I know; don't you think we should practice?"

She gasped, eyes bright with adoration. "You know I love practicing," she whispered before leaping into my arm so fast I damn near dropped her. I recovered, shifting her body in my arm until she rest comfortably against my chest, her arms around my neck.

"I know-when we first started dating, you made us practice how we'd introduce ourselves as a couple and you categorized the occasions," I grunted as I stepped into the townhouse we were now the proud owners of.

"Informal occasions, formal occasions, family events, and casual conversations," she stated proudly, pressing a kiss to my cheek as she slid out of my arms, taking in a deep breath as she looked around the room.

While I loved her place-it was a definite improvement from a one bedroom apartment that had a collection of ambiguous smells, stains, and sounds-I wanted a place where we could grow together. It wasn't too far away from her apartment, which meant it was still close enough to Charles and the precinct that we didn't feel like there was much of a change.

But, at the same time, it was monumental. Closing the door with my boot, I watch her pad across the hardwood floors, moving through the kitchen area and into the open living room, an abundance of light flooding into the space. She stood at the window, looking at the tiny backyard that consisted of a strip of grass, a swinging bench, and a small tool shack.

I quietly moved to stand behind her, curling my arms around her midsection and kissing her shoulder softly. "Do you love it?" I whispered into her shirt, lifting my head to rest my cheek against hers. I felt her drape her arms over mine, and I felt her smile brush against my cheek.

"Jake... I love it. And I love that we can make it ours," she sighed as she took my hand, moving me further into the room. "Imagine: light grey furniture, dark wood side tables, a coffee table, the TV on the wall," she basically sung, and I watched her basically decorate the room with her vision, and I could see she was planning every single detail of it from the sofa to the hand soap.

"Yeah, and I can put my massage chair right here," I added, pulling her to the side of the room, a large grin on my face, despite the fact I knew she'd never allow one of my old, dingey chairs to touch her dream home.

"Jake, I love you so much, but if you bring one of those chairs into this home, I will leave you-and by leave you, I mean I will make you sleep in the shed."

"Right, okay, no to the massage chairs," I said immediately, looking down and nodding. She shoved my arm and we both couldn't help but laugh as we leaned into each other. "Anything you want, Ames. I just want you to be happy," I said softly as I cupped her face, stroking my thumbs across her cheek bones.

"Jake... I can't just decorate the whole house myself; then what makes this place any different from the old one?" she groaned, crossing her arms.

"Well I did suggest some massage chairs..." My thoughts were only met with a steady glare. "Listen, I don't care about all that stuff. Even if you pick everything out, it won't matter to me because this place isn't "Amy's Apartment that Jake Lives In". It's a place where we will grow; it's a place with two extra bedrooms, two floors, and the only thing that I need is you. I'd sleep on the floor as long as I could keep you." I leaned over her crossed arms, kissing her forehead. "And by _keep you,_ I don't mean that you're property, because women are not property and you're independent of my actions and you can leave or stay if you want to, I was just trying to be romantic," I stammered, ears and cheeks burning red.

But she was laughing, and my whole body practically melted at the sound, and she reached up and kissed me like it was the first time, like it was the only thing she ever wanted to do. And when she pulled away, I was breathless, and refused to open my eyes, because a part of me still felt like this whole thing was one long dream caused by eating three large pizzas and downing a two-liter of Coke.

But then I heard her moving, and, again, laughing. I opened my eyes to see her running up the stairs. "I think I'm gonna do themed guest bedrooms, but I'd like to keep our room neutral. Although, I'd be open to a few _Die Hard_ posters... Given we get them frames and they only stay in our bedroom," she pondered aimlessly, stopping at the top of the steps to look around before turning to look at where I stood, gazing up at her from the bottom.

"Are you coming?"

* * *

I looked up the daunting concrete stairwell that led back up to Holt's hospital floor, and all I could think about was moving into the townhouse with Amy. The thought made my head hurt, and I think I was just trying to keep my eyes dry. I slowly moved back up the stairs to the fifth floor, silently resenting how it had taken three flights to convince Amy to stop. _I need to get back into cardio._ I returned back to Holt's room, which was peaceful, lulled by the sound of his heart monitor.

"I must say, I am surprised to see you here, Peralta," Holt said, following me with his eyes as I rounded his bed to stand next to his pillow. "But I am also glad you came."

"Really?" My voice raised, nearly cracking. I coughed, covering the desperation in my voice. "I mean... why? You had to know I'd come, sir; when I heard you fell from a building, I thought you might be in a coma, and then my presence would be so inspiring, you'd be awakened from your coma and finally realize your love for me," I smirked, glad to see Holt's lip twitch slightly.

"Hm. I don't think I've heard an absurd thought such as that in a very long time, Peralta." His voice was soft and quiet, and it wasn't something I was used to. Or maybe I had just forgotten what Holt's voice sounded like. It made me feel nauseous just considering it. "Truth is, Jacob, I did not consider you coming."

"What?" I let out a breathy laugh, thrown off by his statement. "Captain you're... Captain. I know I haven't been the best to... well, I know I haven't been the best to _anyone_ here, not lately, but I haven't forgotten about you." I looked down at his hand as he gestured toward a remote. I pushed it into his hands, and with a press of a button, the back of his hospital bed rose so he was in an up-right position. I moved back, pulling a chair up to the side of the bed, scratching my forehead. "I fucked up, Captain."

"Yes. You did," his voice was as strong and bellowing as I remembered it, and I couldn't help the pull at the corner of my lip. I looked up at him, smiling weakly. "I was very disappointed in you leaving the way you did, Peralta."

"Are you still disappointed in me?" My voice was much quieter than I wanted it to be; I didn't want to look guilty in front of Holt. I mean- _I was_. I was totally, irrevocably, and unarguably guilty, but the last thing I wanted was to be lectured and forced to leave the presence of the one man I dropped everything to come see. As much as I had missed Amy, Charles, or anyone else at the precinct, the one person I had been longing to talk to was Holt.

"I'm not sure if I have enough evidence to be, Jacob," Holt finally replied after a brief moment. "I never asked Amy what happened, for professional reasons, but she also never confined in anyone about it. Admittedly, I even tried communicating with her parents to try and figure it out when my curiosity got the best of me, but it was a dead end. However, I cannot place blame on either of you, because I don't know what happened," his dark eyes bore into me, hands folded in his lap before he shrugged. "I am no longer interested in knowing, but I hope you are not one to blame, Peralta, because in the several years I have spent knowing you, I had never known a detective, nor a _person_ , to care so much for their friends unconditionally."

I sat there, absorbing his words with my arms on my elbows and my hands folded against my cheek. I stared at the bottom of his hospital bed, questioning whether or not I should tell him, or if I should just respect his decision of not wanting to know. Whether or not he wanted to know was a moot point if _I_ couldn't bare to even think about it. It's been a lifetime since then, but when I was alone, and it got too quiet, I could hear our voices echoing in my ears. Amy's cried, my cries, my fist slamming through dry wall, and the torrential downpour that beat against the windows.

I guess Mother Nature was trying to be poetic.

Or edgy.

Neither was appreciated.

"I'm only here for a night Captain, and as _thrilling_ as this conversation is, it's not all I want to talk about," I drawled, blinking up at him. He scoffed, rolling his eyes in probable frustration, but I could see his subtle grin in the deep crevices of his face.

"Don't worry, Peralta. You don't have to stay here and talk to me. Besides, Kevin is coming and you might not want to be here. Things get... heated when we play the Times' Sudoku," he said, moving his eyes to stare at the wall in front of him, deep in thought... or fantasy.

I didn't want to know.

"But you will be back to see me," he concluded, turning back to me as I furrowed my brows. "Newark is only an hour away. Find the time, and come back, _son._ " His words left me rocked momentarily, my voice catching in my throat. I opened my mouth to respond, and nothing but a cracked exhale escaped. "Amy usually goes to Shaw's after she visits me. Someone is usually there to make sure she gets home safe," he said casually, reaching for the remote to move his bed back in its recline position.

I stared at him as he laid there, staring at the TV mounted in the upper corner of the room. I could briefly hear the monotonous voice of a news anchor, which held Holt's interest as I sat there pondering his words. Maybe it was selfish but... I don't think I could leave without trying to see her again. With a slight glare up at my previous Captain, I stood with a sigh, scratching the back of my neck. "I'll come back next week, Captain," I said, dismissing myself as I padded from the room, acknowledging the small wave Holt gave in response.

As I moved out of the hospital, my feet began to move faster and faster until I was basically sprinting out the front doors. I didn't know what the fuck I was doing-what's new there?-but I knew I had to talk to her. I had gone cold turkey completely on Amy, and even though I had only seen her furious at me, I wanted to see her again.

Even if all she had for me was punches and slaps and screaming-I'd take it. I'll take all I can get.


End file.
